


Understanding

by chocographs



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Gen, It's kinda messed up that the mysidians try to poison cecil in front of the two five year olds huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocographs/pseuds/chocographs
Summary: The journey to Mount Ordeals meets a rocky start when the Mysidians try to take revenge on Cecil. The twins struggle to rationalize being caught in the crossfire and try very hard to not resent anyone involved.





	Understanding

There are things they understand and things that they do not.

Both of them understand medicine, though it is Porom who excels in it. She makes the incision as Palom numbs the skin with ice. He stops the flow of the blood while Porom draws out the poison. They have done this before, tested their knowledge and spells upon cadavers (there are so many to work with, in these times), and they are young and brave and untested enough that they cannot begin to doubt their skills even now, when their patient is a living man. Mostly living, anyway, though beneath that armour he seems more a corpse than any they’ve tested their skills upon before. They work silently and quickly. They neutralise the poison, they mend the damage, they sew the skin and they understand.

They understand because they were there. Because Palom stood with the elder black mages, opening the earth with his magic to dig the graves. Because Porom tended to the survivors with trembling hands. Because the two of them had read at the services, Porom with red eyes and Palom with choked voice. Because they had kept saying their prayers every night to a crystal that wasn’t there any more, that couldn’t answer them. They know why this had to be done. They know why the innkeeper slipped the poison into his drink. They do not - not truly - think it unjust.

And they do not understand why it should seem sad, for Mysidia to no longer be safe for them as long as they remain as his side, for it only makes sense. And yet it does seem sad, even if it is for no good reason they can place. They are a few hours walk outside of the town – as far as they had made it before the poison overcame their charge. They hadn’t even noticed it at first, and Cecil had endured it in silence until he could stand no more. They had set up camp where he fell, preparing a space to treat him with the sort of efficiency that only a shared mind could accomplish.

Cecil stirs, Palom’s sleeping spell wearing off. When his eyes open they are bleary and unfocussed. The air is cold with fear and purpose in equal measure - he doesn’t recognise the inside of their tent. His hand moves to his side. His sword is not there, his arm lighter for having the armour stripped from it (even Porom would struggle to find the vein through layers of metal and dark magic).

“You’re awake.” Porom says softly, knelt at his side, bowing her head in greeting. Cecil’s eyes focus on her, and as they do another sleeping spell swirls around Palom’s fingers. Just in case. But he recognises and remembers and regrets, his sword arm falling limp across his chest. “The worst should be over, now. Just rest a little longer. You’ll need your strength for the climb.”

“You’d better recover by the time we set off. We’re here to guide you, dark knight, not carry you.”

“Palom!”

His sword and armour lie to one side, each individual piece wrapped in whatever cloth they had to spare – neither child dared to leave them uncovered. Even though bundled up cloaks and bags and blankets it radiates a horrible darkness, never quite wiped clean of the blood of those killed in the tower of prayer. He unwraps each item carefully and arms himself once more, barely flinching as the armour tightens around him like a vice.

They do not understand why he does this. How he can bear it, how he can willingly feed himself to that darkness. How even when it is peeled away from him, even when he is offered a moment of relief, he can reclaim it without any hesitation.

“You’re wearing that to sleep?” Palom sounds incredulous. Porom shoots him a glare, but genuine curiosity keeps her from shouting him down. She is as surprised as her brother by his choice to wrap himself in the dark armour, only more polite about it.

“I have asked too much from both of you already.” He says, and his voice is softer and kinder and worlds more regretful than one would expect of a monster. He is not speaking of the healing. He is speaking of the exile, of how as long as they walk at his side they are unwelcome in their own home. “I would not ask you to defend me, should we be attacked in the night.”

“That’s noble of you and such, but we’ll be fighting all your battles for you once we’re on the mountain. What’s one more night of being dead weigh- ow!”

“Thank you, Sir Cecil.” Porom’s voice is bright and sweet, but her fingers are wrapped tightly around her brother’s ponytail to keep him from speaking too improperly to his elders. Cecil’s hand falls upon hers softly, mediating, trying to prompt her to let go of her brother, and the two of them flinch away from him and that dark armour.

They do not understand why. They may not trust him, but they trust their elder. He knows more than anyone, and he would not send them to their deaths. This man will not hurt them - if he would, they would never have been sent away with him. Cecil does not seem hurt by their unease. He does not seem anything. Behind the armour, all they can feel from him is unchanging regret. All of them are silent.

“Should I succeed.” He says eventually - it has been a while now. He is respectful and has left them be. “Will they welcome you home? I do not expect forgiveness, but I would not have the two of you suffer for lending me your aid.”

“I am sure they will.” Porom replies first, bright and hopeful.

“If you succeed. Or if you kick the bucket. They’d all be happy if that happened.”

“ _Palom-!_ ”

Porom is horrified by her brother’s rudeness, but Cecil only shakes his head as if it were a suggestion that deserves an answer.

“I cannot fall. Not while Rosa needs me. I am sorry.”

They are silent again. It is dark, and the two siblings are tired. Porom says evening prayer, asking the water crystal to guide them safely across the mountain and to watch over Mysidia and to be brave and believe that one day it will return home. Palom says his prayer as well, though he sais it loudly and pointedly and stares at Cecil all the way through. Cecil says nothing. He keeps watch, though Porom offers to take his place, even recovering from the effects of the poison. It is just before they sleep that Porom finally speaks, very cautiously laying a small hand upon Cecil’s shoulder.

“You will succeed.”

“I do not know that I can-” He begins. He does not finish, because Palom interrupts.

“You heard what she said, dark knight. It wasn’t a question. If you’re not going to die, you’d better make things right instead.”

Porom doesn’t stop him. Not this time. Cecil only nods.

“I will make things right, whether I succeed or fail here. You have my word.”

Palom continues to grumble about that not being good enough, but Porom shepherds him away and back to the tent. With a small bow, she leaves Cecil alone in the night with his thoughts. The night air’s chill forces them both to use the blankets, the ones that they used to wrap the dark sword. They feel much the same as they did before, not stained by its dark magic at all.

If he fails, they become Mysidia’s instrument of vengeance. They will return home to cheers. They will be welcome, and they will be loved, and everyone who turned them away will cheer with pride. If he succeeds- what then? They cannot expect anyone to put aside their hurt simply because he might do better. Perhaps forgiveness will never come, for him or for those who would stand at his side. Perhaps Mysidia will never accept them again.

And yet as they drift off to sleep they pray that he succeeds. They do not understand why.


End file.
